


Feast

by twelvensfield



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood Drinking, Coffee Shops, Getting Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Soft Corpse Husband (Video Blogging RPF), Supernatural Elements, Sykkuno's Smile, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvensfield/pseuds/twelvensfield
Summary: “But he has to close his eyes at the first sip, take it in like prayers to a god — no, like a god to Corpse’s altar. And he can feel the way Sykkuno is staring at him, basking in the way they share this part of themselves with each other.”OR: Corpse is a vampire in need of someone to feed on. Sykkuno seems like the perfect fit.
Relationships: Corpse Husband/Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 153
Kudos: 1221
Collections: Kelly's Picks





	1. When Hunger Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> howdy!!
> 
> thank you so much for all the love on my short series! I've really enjoyed writing it so far, so I'm gonna try out a bit of a longer fic to see if you guys like it <3
> 
> the first couple of chapters probably won't be that explicit, but it will definitely get there ;)
> 
> typical vampire trigger warnings apply, and mentions of food/hunger will appear fairly often, so if that kind of thing isn't good for you then please don't read
> 
> as always, this is not a real relationship, so please don't send fics to the people mentioned
> 
> enjoy :))

After the third time (in one day) Corpse catches himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror, rage boiling under his skin at sallow cheeks and dark, bloodshot eyes, he thinks it may be time to start looking for another roommate. It not that he _needs_ a roommate — residing on this earth for far too long has allowed him to accumulate a certain amount of wealth over the last few centuries. He just misses the company. And the feeding.

His last housemate had died nearly ten years ago, now. She’d been sweet, but had grown terribly old as the years wore on. He _did_ miss the way she’d made coffee, though — with just the right amount of blood to get him going in the morning.

Nowadays, Corpse kept to feeding off strangers. Fortunately for him, general belief in supernatural creatures had begun to wane in the more recent years, so his victims were easy to pick up. But the _taste_ of them was always a hit-or-miss. Late-night meals usually ended in Corpse having to spit out what little blood he’d managed to consume. Laced with alcohol and a cocktail of other substances, their blood didn’t tend to agree with him. Either that, or he’d need to use most of the strength he’d gained from feeding to wipe their memories of his existence.

And he couldn’t _kill_ anyone. Too many times he’d let himself go too far, succumb to the beast that ached to be let out from between his ribs. But he’d grown older since then. More tired. He’d managed to gain control over his urges, finally, but the line between hunger and starvation was starting to wear thin.

Either way, his options were getting considerably more limited. Too weak to shimmer himself into a human’s peripheral, even going out at night meant too many gazes lingered on his form. It had Corpse itching, aching for blood if only to allow himself the sanctity of hiding away for the rest of existence.

So he’d have to go back to his tried and true method. He’d find someone to live with, earn their trust, and then he’d feed on them until they grew tired of him. Or died. He’d gain his strength back, and finally be able to make it through the day without this constant ache in his bones. Maybe he’d even take the time to _live_ a little. But he was getting ahead of himself. Finding a living, breathing, vaguely normal roommate would be the hard part.

He’d bought himself this apartment during the height of his more extravagant years. It was one of the older buildings still standing in LA, on the fourth floor and he even renovated it every ten years or so. Kept it fresh, tried to chase away that damp smell that seem to cling to old buildings. He always rented the spare room out for cheap, providing he’d found himself someone suitable.

But the amount of people needing a place to crash was an ever-increasing waiting list, so Corpse progressively found it harder and harder to wade through the creeps, the loud ones (they were almost worse than the creeps, really, with their never-ending chatter that only built up the headache in Corpse’s skull) and the actors. Corpse shivered at the thought of the actors.

Maybe he’d post an ad on Craigslist. On second thought, maybe that wasn’t the best idea. That’s where the actors roamed. And the creeps. And the loud ones. One lot of annoying people he could have maybe dealt with. But all three? Thinking about the number of messages he’d receive made his head hurt.

So no Craigslist. Maybe he could try word of mouth? He didn’t really have that many friends, though — not an uncommon occurrence for creatures of the night, but still an obstacle when trying to feed. Not to mention, most of his friends lived halfway across the country, or even the world.

Maybe he’d have to find a partner. Get a dating app. But the thought of trying to come up with semi-witty, era-appropriate pick up lines, all with the intent to coerce a person to move in with him and then feed on them felt _wrong_.

Maybe his problem wasn’t even other people, but rather his inability to willingly turn into that ruthless beast inside of him, running through his own blood. Blood that was probably thick, congealing, and far too dark by now, but blood all the same.

He’d sleep on it. That was an idea — a good one, even. And his eyelids are growing heavier by the second. He represses the urge to hang by his ankles like a bat, and instead sinks into his mattress to try and get some shut-eye before dawn.

//

Light filters through the blinds and it _hurts_. It’s the on-the-verge-of-burning, itch-until-he-peels-off-skin kind of hurt, and he winces. That really shouldn’t be happening. With a groan, Corpse rises, and almost-hovers over to his wardrobe to pull on some thicker clothes.

Thankful for the miracles of the modern era (namely hoodies. And beanies. And maybe even sunglasses, at this rate) Corpse gets himself ready to go out. It _really_ shouldn’t be this hard to face the daylight. It’s almost dusk, for fuck’s sake, and he can’t even bear the feeling of the outside world on his skin. He really needs to feed. He’d almost considered the neighbour’s cat, on a particularly bad day, but had thought better of it when the thing started nuzzling his legs. He couldn’t kill a thing so cute.

But he also might literally die, at this point. Mauling Snowball to death wasn’t off the table just yet.

Hell, give him another couple of weeks and he’ll probably chew off his own arm.

He drops the thought for a while and focuses on his breathing. It’s a trick he uses to push down the hunger. To stem his urges for a little while longer. Another trick he’s learnt along the way, and — again — thank fuck for modern-day miracles, is to drink as much coffee as possible. He’d _bathe_ in coffee if such a thing were possible, but, as it stands, the independent cafe a few blocks downtown will have to do.

It’s called _Wide Awake_ or something equally minimalistic and tourist-friendly that makes Corpse chuckle under his breath every time he enters (several times a day for the past however many years it’s been open). Before that, it had been _Intermission_ , and whilst the coffee had been objectively a whole lot better, the company had been less than desirable, to say the least. Corpse may or may not have had a part in the … change of ownership.

Perhaps, if it weren’t for proximity to his apartment, he’d have never visited the place. And what a shame that would have been. Because, every time he opens the door — no matter day or night — there’s a smile as sweet as the sun (not the sun on this particular day, but on a day where its beams feel less like a torture device and more like the sublime wash of the tide over sand) right there to greet him.

And, yeah, maybe Corpse _did_ always schedule his coffee breaks for when he knew Sykkuno would be working. It’s not like he had his timetable memorised or anything, it’s just that he knew Sykkuno never did the morning shift. Or Tuesdays. Or past 5pm every other Wednesday.

Maybe this was turning into a problem.

But that _smile._ It gets him every time.

“Sykkuno. Good morning.” He hadn’t realised how husky his voice was.

“C-corpse, hey,” His apron’s covered in flour and his hair’s a mess, but Corpse thinks he’s as radiant as ever, “I think it’s technically the evening, but I’ll let it slide ‘cause—” Sykkuno pauses for a second, casts a cursory glance across Corpse’s form.

Corpse tries not to curl in on himself under the scrutiny.

“You don’t look too well, are you alright?” He’s already handing him his coffee (black, two sugars) and Corpse jerks his hand back from where their fingers brush. If he had enough blood to blush, he probably would have.

“Um, yeah, better than ever,” He shoots him a flash of teeth, “how are you?”

Sykkuno doesn’t look like he believes him, but he grimaces at the question, too, so Corpse knows something must be up.

“Yeah, not too bad. I mean, uh,” Corpse meets his eyes, lets his pupils widen just a tad so that Sykkuno spits out the words, “I’m kind of getting kicked out of my place? It’s not a big deal though, I mean, I’ve got until the end of the week and there’s a couple people who will let me crash on their couch for a while, so—”

“Move in with me.” Corpse wishes he had the strength to compel Sykkuno to his apartment, although at the same time it would be nicer if he came willingly.

“Wh-what?”

Corpse hesitates, wishes he could cram the thinly-veiled desperation back into his stupid mouth. “I mean, uh, I’ve got a spare room. And my rent’s really cheap! Like, super cheap. And it’s only round the corner, so you wouldn’t even have to bike to work—”

“You know I bike to work?” Sykkuno has this indescribable expression on his face, like an odd mixture of baffled endearment that Corpse can’t quite grasp, even after years of observing human emotion.

“Well, yeah. Uh. I always see it out front whenever you’re in here, and I know Toast doesn’t bike cause he lives above the shop,” He’s rambling, now, trying to feign some sanity, “listen, don’t even worry about it, just forget I said anything. I-I don’t want to make anything weird, and we don’t even really know each o—”

“Would you let me think about it for a while?” Sykkuno’s staring up at him with that coy look that he wears, sometimes, when he wants people to leave a tip, or when he wants Corpse to stop overthinking.

Corpse swallows, lets his gaze flit over dark lashes, the spark of his eyes when he catches Corpse looking. “U-uh, sure. I mean, take as long as you need, obviously.”

Sykkuno hands him his receipt, fingers shaking despite his bravado. “Come back tomorrow.”

Corpse just nods and tries not to make even more of a fool of himself.

With the wind brushing his cheeks, his mind clears again and he curses himself for sounding so _keen_. Not that he’s not keen. He’s probably the most keen he’s ever been for such a thing (although he’s not sure how much of that is the hunger talking, and how much of it might have to do with the way Sykkuno makes him want to _hold_ and never let go). He just needs to reign himself in, at least for another day or two, before the blow of Sykkuno’s rejection hits him with full force.

And he _knows_ it’ll be a rejection — its almost entirely certain of it — but what’ll be worse is the way Corpse will still keep coming back to the cafe. Sykkuno will smile at him, in that usual way of his, but Corpse won’t be able to let go of the fact that they’ll never be more than the occasional hello, a smile, and a cup of black coffee.


	2. Sated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the response to the first chapter!! I can't always promise that updates will be this frequent (I just got back to uni lol so I'll have a lot of work coming up) but for now I'm writing like my hands are on fire!
> 
> I hope you like the update, again it's a bit of an introductory chapter but there'll be even more coming soon :)
> 
> also I wrote most of this yesterday on a freezing cold train station platform, so I think a cold environment forces me to produce actual Thoughts. maybe I won't turn on the heating in my room for a while lol
> 
> enjoy :))

Corpse almost doesn’t get out of bed, that next day. The pain of moving is close enough to what dying must feel like. And the anticipation of rejection, the thought of having to move back to stealing blood bags (old and cold, and taken away from those who need it more than he does) builds the queasy feeling in his stomach until he’s near certain that he’ll never be able to move again.

But, with a good few lungfuls of air, and the glorious lack of sunshine (the sun had set a good few hours ago) Corpse vaults himself off of the mattress with shaking arms.

He makes it down the block with small, aching steps, holding out on the fact that the cafe doesn’t shut for another half hour. It’s Sykkuno’s tentative wave from behind the glass that coxes him forward with more energy, if only to mask the pain wreaking havoc through his body.

“Corpse! I thought you weren’t gonna show up, but I have your favourite—”

Corpse watches as the smile slips from Sykkuno’s face when he gets a better look at him, sees the dark circles under his eyes and the way his legs shuffle pathetically across the room.

“Are-are you sure you’re alright, Corpse?”

There’s not really any room to deny how bad he looks — how bad he _feels_ — that will get Sykkuno off his back.

He lets out the whisper of a laugh as he approaches the counter. “Even if you decide not to move in with me, I might have to get you to walk me home after this.” The confession isn’t one he makes lightly.

He’d hope that he’d be able to hold out longer than this, to build Sykkuno up to the idea of feeding. But, as always, poor timing is ready to kick Corpse in the ass. That and the crumble of his bones against his sensitive nerves.

“Of course, y-yeah whatever you need. When was the last time you, uh, ate?”

Sykkuno surely can’t know the effect that his words have on Corpse, who’s leaning heavily on the counter by this point, coffee clutched in his hand. The warmth of it almost convinces him that he’ll have the strength to make it back on his own.

“Probably too long.” He tries to get across how much he _doesn’t want to talk about it, even though he’s very grateful for Sykkuno’s concern, and if he keeps looking at him like that then Corpse will probably rip into his throat just to get him to_ stop.

Sykkuno hums. Corpse thanks whoever’s watching over him (not that he particularly believes in anything like that — he’s seen far too much pain in the mortal world to hold out the hope for a more bearable afterlife) that the subject is dropped, for now.

“Give me a second to close up.”

Corpse tries to protest, but Sykkuno stills him with a look that stops his train of thought.

When everything’s wiped down, and after at least three crashes from the back room (accompanied by Sykkuno’s mock-hateful grumbles, but never the string of swears that Corpse would have expected from anyone else) Sykkuno loops an arm under Corpse’s shoulders and heaves them both out of the building.

Corpse is done with his coffee (Sykkuno had even put in that vanilla syrup stuff that Corpse _really_ likes), so Sykkuno leaves him with his weight held against the door while he finds a trash can. Corpse can’t help but admire the way he moves, more fluid than he’d have thought, but still with a slightly hunched back and a nervous shuffle of his feet.

When Sykkuno catches him staring, Corpse can tell he’s fighting down the blood that rises to his cheeks. And how Corpse can’t _wait_ to taste it. To have even a part of Sykkuno just for him. The fangs that poke insistently at his lower lip are in agreement, so Corpse has to do more of his breathing exercises to prevent him from committing murder.

Sykkuno lifts a brow at the shaky exhales, but says nothing and again Corpse is reminded of how much Sykkuno seems to _know_ what he needs. It’s unnerving, he should think. Instead, he just basks in the warmth that floods through him with Sykkuno’s every touch.

Corpse guides them to his apartment with whispered directions and the occasional tug of his fingers at the hem of Sykkuno’s hoodie when they’re going too fast. In the lobby, Corpse can tell that Sykkuno’s a bit taken aback by the state of the place.

“I thought you said your rent was _cheap_.” Corpse knows what it must look like — vintage (actually vintage, and worth more than Corpse would care to admit) furnishings, high ceilings, all but a doorman guarding the entrance.

Corpse brushes it off, blames the age of the building and the damp. Sykkuno doesn’t quite believe him. He never really does, when Corpse lies. Usually people have a harder time of reading him, but with Sykkuno he feels vulnerably transparent. No more mysterious than the obvious wealth that lies in the building they’ve stepped into.

There’s no lift, though, so they take the four flights of stairs. By then, Corpse is leaning impossibly heavy on Sykkuno, and, although he doesn’t put up a fuss, there’s a tense line to his shoulders and every step thuds a little harder than the last.

Corpse’s door isn’t locked (it never is, but Corpse blames it on forgetting rather than deliberate planning) to which Sykkuno gives him another curious glance. A curiosity that persists after he’s gently let Corpse sink into the sofa and had a look at his surroundings. As first impressions of an apartment go, Corpse knows that it might not be the best. His place is a little bare (probably too bare for a creature of his age, although a lot of his possessions have remained in storage for a long while) but still, somehow, messy.

There’s a dozen used coffee mugs littered about the place, not enough light, probably a lot of out of date food in his cupboards, and a surprising amount of cat hair. He doesn’t even _have_ a cat. But Sykkuno’s eyes linger on the stacks of books on his shelves, the stuffed notebooks, the evidence of a life long lived. He even smiles at such things, which causes a furrow to appear in Corpse’s brow.

When Sykkuno moves over to the kitchen, dust on a fingertip from skimming over book spines, Corpse flinches. When he sees the bare cupboards, he’ll know something’s up. Corpse will have to compel him so he can draw blood. If all he can do is make it through these next few minutes, he’ll be eternally grateful, he promises.

Sykkuno’s bent down, rifling through things until he grins in triumph. Corpse has risen from his seat on the sofa, is making his way over to the kitchen in Sykkuno’s wake, when Sykkuno turns around to look at him.

That _smile_. How the fuck is Corpse supposed to do this with that smile taking up all of the empty space in his head?

Sykkuno beats him to the chase. “Corpse, how long has it been since you last fed?” His tone is low, spoken with a purpose that confuses Corpse.

“U-uh, I don’t know,” He feels the urge to tell Sykkuno the truth, even though he’s aware of the fact that he really shouldn’t, “maybe, a few months?” He nearly slaps a hand to his mouth. What the _fuck?!_ Why did he say that? And, more pressingly, why the _fuck_ isn’t Sykkuno running for the hills. Why does he look, instead, like he’s _concerned_? As if such a thing is normal?

“Oh Jesus, how are you still alive? Y-you’re not supposed to go that long without- _why_ haven’t you been- you know what, never mind,” Sykkuno sounds exasperated, panicked. Corpse still isn’t fully aware of the situation at hand, thinks that the cake bar in Sykkuno’s hand is for him (human food is decidedly _not_ what he needs right now) “I’m gonna go ahead and eat this, and then you’re gonna eat me,” Corpse’s eyes widen, lock onto Sykkuno’s, “and you’re not gonna get out of it.”

With that, Sykkuno starts in on the bar, an anger fuelling him that Corpse doesn’t think he’s seen in the man, up until now. Corpse just blinks. And then he _realises_ , that Sykkuno knows what he is. That he sees Corpse more clearly than anyone else has in years, and he’s not yet calling for his death. There’s no angry mob pounding on the apartment door, demanding his head on a spike. It’s almost laughable, how unusual the situation is. Even for Corpse.

He can’t quite muster the energy to spew questions at Sykkuno like he’d like to, but he does have enough to put up a protest about drinking straight from the vein.

“Can’t control myself. There- there’s stuff in the bathroom. Under the sink.”

Sykkuno scrunches his face, again confused (Corpse is the one who’s confused! He’s fucking bewildered, and he can’t even find the strength to get the truth out of Sykkuno) as he stumbles his way to the bathroom.

When he emerges, Corpse is sitting at the kitchen island, the stool next to him pulled out in invitation. Sykkuno sits on it, rolls out the pouch of medical supplies, and Corpse gets to work. He motions for Sykkuno to tie the elastic around his upper arm, flicks at the vein under the skin of his inner elbow, and tries not to drool too much.

The vision of red flowing from Sykkuno into one of Corpse’s favourite mugs (handmade from England, and the only memento from his last trip there — it’s got little bees swarming all over it, and it’s got that home-grown, slightly-off shape to it that Corpse finds fascinating) is one that leaves him speechless.

His fangs are fully protruding out now, the familiar itch growing stronger with every passing second. When Corpse can see the slight paler tinge creeping into Sykkuno’s face, he makes him set down the equipment. He tends to the wound. He pretends he isn’t taken over completely by bloodlust. Although he supposes that if that had been the case, Sykkuno wouldn’t be awake enough to witness it.

With Sykkuno dealt with, Corpse reaches for the mug. Grasps it in a tight hold. Lets his ringed fingers tap against the porcelain until it’s at his lips. And then he’s on the verge of blacking out, for a while.

The taste of Sykkuno on his tongue is _bliss_ incarnate. It’s not like any blood he’s ever tasted, too full of something that Corpse can only equate to sunshine. The sea. Nature itself. It’s cleansing, somehow, and it sweeps through all his pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you sooooooon ;) and feel free to gimme ur thoughts


	3. Two of a Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy :)) this fic is gonna be a bit more of a slow-build than anticipated, but I'm updating quite frequently so it shouldn't take too long ;)
> 
> again, thank you so much for all of the feedback on the last chapter!
> 
> don't push ships on real-life people <3

Sykkuno’s energy flooding into Corpse’s veins wakes a part of himself that he hasn’t felt in months — years, even — and Corpse already knows that this one taste won’t be enough. Soon, the mug is drained, and Corpse shakes out his limbs. He’s thrumming with vibrance, thinks there might even be a flush to his cheeks when he meets Sykkuno’s eyes.

Sykkuno looks at him likes he’s never seen such a thing. Corpse may have been able to believe that earlier, but at present, he’s sure Sykkuno’s seen as much of this world (if not more) than Corpse himself.

“What the fuck are you?” There’s no real venom to it, not now, not after Sykkuno had given him a sliver of himself. But Corpse is cautious all the same.

“W-wait. You don’t know?” Sykkuno seems genuinely confused by this interaction, and Corpse can’t help but laugh. “I thought you knew! I thought that’s why you always came by the cafe, and, uh, I know that you’re. A vampire, or whatever.”

Corpse lets out a high chuckle, again, trying to make it all make sense. “Fucking vampire, yes. At your service. Of course I didn’t know that you’re … whatever. I would have _said_ something.”

Sykkuno blushes, then. “Oh, uh. I-I just assumed. Anyway, um, if this is weird now, I totally get it, I can get out of your way.”

“Stay.” He doesn’t mean it to come out in his _dark night, booming over the Transylvanian cliffside_ voice, a command that he can tell startles Sykkuno. But it ends up that way all the same.

“That won’t work on me,” Sykkuno breaks out into one of those smiles, “I’m sort of a- uh, siren. You could say.” His hand flies up to scratch at the back of his neck, and from his wince, Corpse can tell that he’s forgotten about the puncture in the crook of his elbow.

“I thought sirens were a myth.” Corpse is almost in awe. He’s heard of them, obviously, but he’s never _seen_ one. Never even knew what to look for. It makes sense that Sykkuno can read him like a book — he’s not affected by Corpse’s magic, not influenced by the compulsion of his voice.

But Sykkuno can do his own compelling, with those smiles. And those gentle, firm, words that would take you off a bridge if Sykkuno so wanted.

“Nope. We’re pretty rare though, I don’t know any outside my family.”

Corpse makes a considering noise. “Wait, so, have you been _siren-ing_ me this whole time?” That would explain the draw that he feels to Sykkuno, the way he can never quite tear his gaze away.

“W-what? No. Jesus, Corpse, I just saved your life,” Sykkuno gets up from his seat and starts pacing, “I haven’t been, like manipulating you into liking me! I would never- not even to a vampire,” as riled up as he is, Sykkuno still shoots Corpse an apologetic glance, “no offence.”

“None taken.”

They let the moment sit, until Sykkuno stops pacing in front of Corpse. Corpse has still got his hands gripped around the mug, not quite ready to let the memory of Sykkuno’s blood fade from his mind.

“Can I still move in?” He’s reverted back to that shy version of Sykkuno that Corpse first met, that stammered his name and avoided his gaze like the plague.

Corpse tries to reassure him with a smile, but there’s a chance his fangs are still peeking through because Sykkuno’s heartbeat skips at the sight of him. “Yeah. And, uh, I was kind of lying about the rent earlier—”

“I knew it! I knew it could be that cheap, this place is _gorgeous._ ”

Corpse tips his head back in a laugh. “No, no, not that. I mean there isn’t actually any rent, I bought this place ages ago, so you don’t have to pay me or anything.”

“You _bought_ it? How?! It’s, like, huge. And- and, how old even are you, like 22?”

Corpse forgets to breathe, for a second (yes, vampires still need to breathe. Well. _Corpse_ still needs to breathe. He still hasn’t quite kicked the habit) before speaking. “Uh, I mean. Technically, yeah, I’m 23. But, I’ve been around for a _long_ time.”

“Oh. Uh, how long?” Sykkuno’s eyes widen, “I-I mean, if that’s not a rude question. Of course it’s a rude question, I’m so sorry. It’s just that I thought older vampires would be more, I dunno, crusty?”

Corpse just stares at Sykkuno, watches as his mind races and his mouth rambles. His sudden burst of laughter brings Sykkuno back to him and, then, he’s laughing too. Corpse can’t help his gasping, the high pitch to his voice.

“Crusty,” He’s still laughing between the words, “holy shit, Sykkuno. I mean, as a rule, you’re not actually that far off.” Corpse has met only a few vampires in his long life, and they’d all seemed to be stuck in the decade they’d turned in.

He’d always been more like a human than a vampire, anyway, so he tried to fit in as much as he could. Well, as much as his social anxiety would allow him to. “I’m like, old enough to have seen cathedrals built on the ruins of the Aztec temples in Mexico.”

He’s also old enough to have seen the decimation of his family’s religion, the invasion, the conversion, until his culture had been thoroughly destroyed. But his memories of that time was faded, worn around the edges, and it was becoming harder to recognise the man he had been back then — all hatred, fury, revenge. Bloodlust and violence forever on his mind.

“Wow. That’s, uh, a long time.” Sykkuno doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything else.

“Y-yeah, I guess. It’s not like I remember much of it, anyway.”

He watches Sykkuno fiddle with the hem of his hoodie.

“Wait, how old are you?” Corpse puts him between a century or two old, still green, but experienced enough to spot a vampire in a crowd.

“I’m 27,” He begins hesitantly, “but, uh. I just had my birthday, so I guess I’m … 28 now?”

“28,” Corpse deadpans, “you’re 28.” He doesn’t really know how to handle this.

“Um, yeah? Which I guess to you isn’t that old. Not that you’re old—”

“Sykkuno,” Corpse interrupts, “I’m old. I’m super old.”

“Okay, fine, yeah, you’re pretty old. Like _ancient_ old. And I guess I just- I don’t know. I’m not that interesting, I haven’t ever travelled. I don’t even have that many friends! And if I move in, you’ll realise all of that and you’ll get bored of me. So.”

Corpse sighs. “Sykkuno. I wanted you to move in even when I thought you were a _human_. And, trust me, you’re interesting.”

“Really?” Sykkuno almost looks hopeful, Corpse thinks.

“Yes, really. And, uh, I also have kind of a favour to ask you.” Corpse blushes. He wishes he could hide it, but the blood is still flowing strong throughout him. And he doesn’t think it’ll stop anytime soon.

“Oh Jesus, I knew there’d be a catch.” Sykkuno fake-wails, dropping onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh, arm flung across his eyes like a damsel. Corpse moves over to him when he forgets about his arm, again, and holds his palm over the crook of Sykkuno’s elbow, closing his eyes in concentration.

Corpse sees the moment Sykkuno realises what he’s doing, knows he can feel that almost-burn ripple under his skin. When Corpse moves his hand away, there’s not even a mark on Sykkuno’s skin.

 _This_ is what it feels like to be sated. To have that power running through him again. “Will you let me feed on you- like, somewhat regularly?” He’s always shy with the way he asks _that_ question, doesn’t want to take more than he’s being given.

Sykkuno just blinks up at him, runs the tips of his fingers over the mark that’s no longer there. “I mean, yeah. Obviously.”

As if it’s that easy.

“You can even drink straight from the vein, if that’s what you want.” They’re both blushing now, under the weight of those whispered words.

“Tha- thanks. But. Uh. I don’t want to actually kill you.” Corpse tries to brush it off, but he knows himself. He knows how he gets. And he can’t risk it, not with Sykkuno. It hadn’t been so bad with the alcoholics, with drug-laced blood that he barely wanted to drink in the first place. But with Sykkuno — he couldn’t even entertain the thought of hurting him, let alone _killing_ him.

“You won’t be able to.” Sykkuno seems so sure of himself.

“What? Seriously, I can’t control myself.”

Again, there’s that look of determination in his eyes. “And I’m saying that you won’t be able to kill me. I’m stronger than I look.” He demonstrates with a flex of his arms, gun-show style, a performance that has Corpse laughing into the couch beside him.

He still can’t really fathom the idea of it ending well. “Can we just play it safe, for a while?” He tries to add a level of pleading to his tone.

Sykkuno backs down with a sigh, leans further into the cushions. “Fine. But you have to help me move all my stuff tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” So soon. Corpse needed to buy food, clear out the spare room (he hadn’t even thought that far ahead, and there was so much stuff on the floor that he doubted they’d be able to get in much further than the entrance) and think about how to live with another person again. It had been so _long_.

“Is- is that too soon?” Sykkuno’s shy again, unsure of himself.

“No. Tomorrow is good.” He tries not to look as scared as he feels.

Sykkuno’s grin tells him that he’s succeeded. “I should get going, then. Sort my life into boxes.” He laughs, and Corpse lets himself join in.

“Okay. I’ll give you my number so you can text me your address.” Corpse blushes again, rationalises it as after effects from the feed.

“Oh, uh. Sure. I- I mean it’s pretty far, so get ready for a day of walking.”

Corpse is typing his number into Sykkuno’s phone under the name _roomie uwu_ because he thinks it’ll make Sykkuno laugh. “I’ll drive.”

“You’ve got a car? Jesus, why didn’t I move in months ago?” And he even snorts when Corpse hands him back the phone.

Corpse hopes another blush goes unnoticed under the dim lights.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, then?” Corpse tries not to sound too desperate, even though they’d already agreed to it.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Corpse. Have a good night.”

And then the door is being shut behind him, and Corpse is left in the dark. It seems so much more lonely than it had earlier.

He gets a text, that night.

_Thanks for letting me move in,, I don’t think I ever said that._

And then another.

_Sleep well :))_

And another.

_Wait do vampires even sleep?_

_Never mind stupid question_

Corpse falls asleep with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think ;)


	4. My Heart Burns for You and So Do the Eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good afternoon kinky bastards!! I hope you like this update :))
> 
> the title of this chapter really says it all, to be honest!
> 
> again, thank you all so much for the feedback so far it literally warms my heart so much
> 
> this relationship is not real, so please don't send anything to the people mentioned
> 
> trigger warnings for mentions of food (I just want to reiterate this, because I feel like from here on out that kind of thing will become a more prominent theme)
> 
> enjoy ;)

Corpse hasn’t driven in a while. Sykkuno doesn’t mention it on their ride back, but Corpse can feel him tensing at every corner, hand twitching to stable himself on the door handle. Corpse just drives faster, tries to remember how to use a gearstick, and even abides by _most_ road laws.

They’d managed to get the boxes in the trunk in only two trips, so they’re back at Corpse’s only fifteen minutes later. It all feels so surreal.

Sykkuno has to nudge Corpse out the car, so he’s only really coming back to himself when they’re already halfway up the stairs, boxes not weighing them down too heavily. It’s only when they get to the spare room that Corpse remembers, again, that it’s already full to the brim.

“Oops.” Corpse feels his face heat.

Sykkuno just dumps his box outside the door and laughs, a hand covering his face that Corpse wants to bat away. He manages to hold himself back, barely.

By the time Corpse has gotten over his embarrassment, Sykkuno is bounding down the hallway with the rest of the boxes (maybe he really _is_ that strong) and then they’re both staring at the mess in front of them.

“We should probably get started on all this.” Sykkuno’s grinning up at him, and Corpse is only just starting to notice their height difference. He can see clear across the top of Sykkuno’s head, the unkempt tufts of hair that frame his face.

“Mm. I can probably throw out most of it, but there’s a few things I’ll have to put into storage.” Corpse takes off his shoes and leaps onto the bed (about the only thing not covered in a layer of stuff and dust) scouting out the best place to start.

Sykkuno, more hesitantly, joins him, and Corpse has to steady his unsure legs with a hand at the small of his back. Sykkuno steadies himself on the wall of Corpse’s chest, and Corpse can feel his heartbeat rise.

Scanning the room brings back memories, times so stuck in the back of his mind that the thought of dislodging them had been lost to him entirely. Piles of clothes from his more extravagant eras, complete with ruffled velvet and far too many buttons. Trinkets from his travels of the world — lamps (oddly quite a few more lamps than he remembers buying) his _dagger collection._

Now _that_ was something to behold. Corpse flashes his teeth at Sykkuno and flicks his wrist so that one of them flies over to his open palm. He tries to keep the pride from swelling in his chest when Sykkuno’s eyes widen, pupils dilating.

Corpse twirls the thing around his fingers, admires the metalwork and the detail on the handle.

Sykkuno’s staring at his fingers. “You can do that?”

Corpse ducks his head under the tone of it, the wonder in Sykkuno’s voice. “Um, kinda, yeah. I can only do it with objects I know really well. Or when I’ve fed a lot.”

Sykkuno takes the dagger from his grip, twirls it prettily across his fingers, too. Now it’s Corpse who’s staring, watching as Sykkuno spins the metal in his hand, even tosses it in the air before catching it again.

“Can we keep these in here?” Sykkuno’s grin is infectious, so Corpse finds himself agreeing.

They make fairly quick work of the rest of the stuff, and Corpse only decides to keep a couple of boxes of stuff in the house (photo albums, some of the clothes that he’d seen Sykkuno run his fingertips over, his records, and a few more books that he think he might re-read). The rest of it gets dumped in the corner of the living room, ready for Corpse to take to the unit.

Sykkuno insists that he doesn’t need any help setting up his room, but when Corpse hears the Sykkuno-typical crashing noises from the spare room, he grins and enters. Sykkuno’s lying on the bed with his stuff strewn around him, sneezing with the dust.

Corpse nudges him so that he can strip the sheets and wash them while Sykkuno deliberates about where to put what. He’s organised a box of kitchen stuff for Corpse to put away (unsurprisingly, Corpse is significantly lacking in that department) and he’s sifting through his clothes, making deliberating noises.

Corpse feels the small twist of a smile form on his face at the sight of him.

When Corpse pokes his head into Sykkuno’s room again, he can hear the grumble of his stomach. He’s still frantically sorting out his things, and they hadn’t stopped to buy groceries yet.

“What food do you want from the store?” Corpse hasn’t gone grocery shopping in a _long_ time. But he thinks he’ll still be able to distinguish between the edible and the non-edible.

Sykkuno looks up as if he’s completely forgotten about the concept of food. “Oh, uh. I’m not really that fussy. And you really don’t have to buy me food, I’m sure there’s another, uh, snack bar in the back of the cupboard.” He goes back to his unpacking after shooting Corpse a smile.

Corpse just shrugs. “It’s getting late and you need to eat. We can go get more stuff tomorrow, but I think I can manage buying more than, uh, stale cereal bars.”

Sykkuno looks up from where he’s buried under graphic t-shirts. “Oh, uh. Thank you, then.”

Corpse holds the smile that Sykkuno gives him all the way to the store. And then he remembers that, maybe, he doesn’t actually know anything about people food. Eggs? Everyone likes eggs, right? And bread? But what kind — there’s wholemeal, half-and-half, gluten free. Wait, is Sykkuno allergic to anything? Corpse groans.

He leaves with more than he’d anticipated buying, two full bags over his shoulders like a donkey. There’s an assortment of stuff in there (even some vegetables) but Corpse hopes at least _some_ of it won’t taste terrible.

When he gets back to the apartment — _their_ apartment, now (and doesn’t that thought jolt a shiver down his spine) — there’s a soft spill of music coming from the living room. Corpse’s record player has been dusted off, and one of the Studio Ghibli soundtracks fills the air. He finds himself smiling as he starts putting away the food.

He pokes his head into Sykkuno’s room, watches as he holds up two framed prints against the wall, deciding between them with a sway to his hips in time with the music.

Corpse doesn’t mean to startle him, really, but the kick in his heartbeat and the flush to his cheeks is a bonus. “Do you want me to cook dinner?” He hasn’t cooked for a while, but he’s got the internet, and how hard can it _really_ be?

Sykkuno’s still holding the frames, but his hips have stopped their movement. “Really? You don’t have to, I’ve just got,” he looks around the room, notices the huge pile of stuff still left to sort through, “uh, actually. Yeah, that would be nice, thanks.”

Corpse chuckles as he leaves and tries to figure out what he’s going to make. The kitchen, all of a sudden, looks more daunting than he remembers. Maybe he shouldn’t have offered to cook. But it’s a little too late to take it back, so he’ll just have to get over the slight tremble in his fingers.

Bread, milk, eggs, butter. The internet says French toast is the best way to go, even though it’s almost 10pm, so Corpse starts getting things ready. He doesn’t have any measuring stuff, so he eyeballs the milk and then adds an egg. And another egg, just to be sure.

Turning on the hob is a bit more of a struggle than it probably should be, but soon the pan is hot and the bread is soft with the mixture. Corpse’s nose wrinkles at the texture — it’s a bit slimy, but hopefully when it cooks it won’t look so much like snot.

The sizzle of cooking brings a smile to Corpse’s face, and he leaves it to heat while he flips over the record. He can feel Sykkuno smiling at him from the open door of his room, a grateful skip of his heart as he starts humming along to the new tune.

When Corpse returns to the pan, there’s smoke coming up from the bread. It’s accompanied by the acrid smell of smoke which has Corpse’s brain short-circuiting. Was he so distracted by tuning into Sykkuno that he’d not been able to smell the disaster happening from the kitchen?

“Shit, shit,” he takes the pan off the heat, holds it up, and then realises he doesn’t really know what to do next, “oh, fuck.”

There’s still smoke coming from it, and the alarm must only be seconds from going off. Scrambling, he dumps the bread in the sink and decides to deal with it later.

Sykkuno doesn’t seem to have noticed, yet, so he’s in the clear for now.

Corpse’s second attempt takes a little longer to cook (he turns the gas _way_ down low, just to be careful) so by the time he’s cooked three slices, the first two are cold. With a grimace, he hopes that it won’t be _completely_ disgusting. Although, at this point, there’s not really much hope.

When he brings it to Sykkuno (there’s art on the walls, even a couple of houseplants potted in the corner, and the space looks so utterly Sykkuno that it nearly floors him) the other man grins up at him from the bed.

“Thanks, holy shit this looks good.” Sykkuno grins up at him, and it eases some of the tightness in Corpse’s chest.

Corpse ducks his head and waits for Sykkuno to actually taste it.

Sykkuno wolfs it down (maybe he’s left it too late for food — how often do people even _eat?_ ) and gets up from the bed with a clean plate. “That was great, thank you.” He squeezes his hand on Corpse’s shoulder, and Corpse forgets to breathe.

Then he hears the chuckling. “C-corpse,” Sykkuno shouts, and Corpse can tell he’s smiling, “why is there bread in the sink?”

Corpse goes through to when Sykkuno is holding up the soggy, burnt toast, and he blushes. “Oh, uh, I kinda fucked up the first one.”

Sykkuno must notice the embarrassment heating Corpse’s cheeks, because he reassures him with one of the smiles that Corpse _loves._

“It’s really nice that you cooked for me. Thank you.”

And those words _really_ shouldn’t have such an effect on Corpse. But they do, and then he’s staring at Sykkuno like an obsessive ex. Sykkuno averts his eyes under Corpse’s gaze, and finishes washing up the dishes.

The music’s ended again, so Corpse rifles through the stack of records (he’s forgotten about most of them, but there are a good few ones amongst the pile of badly-aged band albums) and lands on Elton John. It’s not his usual scene, but it’s less intense than his usual taste, which he thinks Sykkuno will appreciate.

When he turns around to gauge his opinion, Sykkuno’s sat on the kitchen table with the band around his arm, mug balanced on his lap dripping red.

Once again, Corpse forgets to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, let me know what you think!!


	5. Lax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaah!! you might actually like me for this chapter :)) 
> 
> thank you so much for all the love so far <3
> 
> this ship isn't real
> 
> also,,, england lockdown number 3 has me not happy so I really appreciate everyone who reads this :)

“Sykkuno, what are you doing?” His voice is low, marred with concern. He tries not to flare his nostrils with the way the scent of Sykkuno’s blood clouds his senses. “You’re not supposed to take blood this often. And-” Corpse is scrambling for reasons as to why this is a bad idea, “and I don’t even need it, I’m more well fed now than I have been in ages, so, don’t hurt yourself for me.”

And yet, the vision of Sykkuno with veins popped and sweat clinging to his neck is the closest thing to heaven Corpse will ever see, he’s sure.

“Vampires are supposed to feed regularly. And, uh, I have accelerated healing, too.”

Corpse furrows his brow at that. “But- yesterday, you didn’t—”

“Well, yesterday, I didn’t have access to a body of water. My old apartment didn’t have a bath, but you do, so a couple hours in there and I’ll be good to go again.” Sykkuno blushes at the implication of his words.

“What other special talents do sirens have? Should I be worried about x-ray vision? Spontaneous invisibility?” Corpse moves over to where Sykkuno’s sat, puts a hand on his upper arm and eases out the needle.

A drop beads out onto Corpse’s thumb, and he brings it to his mouth. He closes his eyes, takes in the feel of it. It’s on the edge of sweet, and Corpse can almost taste the French toast. But there’s something else there, too.

“You’re still hungry.”

Sykkuno hums, and it’s only then that Corpse sees how pale he _really_ is. The loll to his head when he blinks down at where Corpse is tasting him, feeling that wash of bliss ripple through him again.

Corpse puts the mug, still full with promise, on the table.

He loops an arm under Sykkuno’s shoulder blades and walks them both to the bathroom. There’s a chair in there that Corpse lowers Sykkuno into as he runs the bath, warm and soapy. Sykkuno blinks his eyes, slower than normal, and Corpse is glad he has the strength to take his own clothes off.

He averts his gaze, reminding himself that Sykkuno is lax with the lack of blood, pliant and _trusting_ of Corpse. He has to help Sykkuno all the way in, hand braced to his good arm.

Sykkuno closes his eyes and fully submerges himself, blinking up at Corpse through the parting of the bubbles. Corpse smiles at him, too, until he realises that maybe Sykkuno’s been under there too long. With Corpse’s nudging, Sykkuno re-surfaces.

“What?” His lashes are dewy with water, clinging together and Corpse tries to remember what the problem was.

“Don’t you need to breathe?”

Sykkuno’s eyes crease in a dopey smile. He points to himself. “Siren, remember?”

Corpse flushes and rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed by flicking water in Sykkuno’s direction.

“I’m gonna make some more food.” He brushes a kiss to the crown of Sykkuno’s head, even surprises _himself_ with it.

Sykkuno hums before re-submerging himself. Corpse can almost feel the calm wash through him.

Making more French toast doesn’t sound too difficult, but with the distraction of Sykkuno’s blood still on the counter, his ability to think is severely compromised. But it’s with only one near miss (too long tuning into the way Sykkuno relaxes in the bath, heartbeat increasing the more his blood replenishes) that he’s got another stack of bread for Sykkuno to dig into.

He accepts the plate gratefully, rips into the food with a vigour. “Mm. Did you feed yet?”

Corpse knows that Sykkuno knows he hasn’t, with the way Corpse’s shoulders tense at the question.

“B-bring it in. We can eat together, if you want.” He’s blushing, again, which Corpse thinks is a good sign of the rate of his healing.

When he returns, hands shaking on the handle, he drops into the chair. Tries not to let the smell (of Sykkuno’s blood, of Sykkuno in the water, under a thin layer of soap) completely take control of him.

But he has to close his eyes at the first sip, take it in like prayers to a god — no, like a god to Corpse’s altar. And he can _feel_ the way Sykkuno is staring at him, basking in the way they share this part of themselves with each other.

He feels the ache of his muscles smooth out (not that he’d even noticed them there to begin with, but with this rush of euphoria, every nerve in his body is alight with something utterly freeing). If _this_ is what it feels like to be full (he’d never been such a thing in centuries) he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to go hungry again.

When he feels that last drop slide down the back of his throat, Corpse puts the mug on the floor and looks up at Sykkuno with half-lidded eyes. He knows they’re impossibly dark, veined with power, and if Sykkuno’s whimper is any indication, he can feel the thrum of energy lighting the air, too.

Corpse’s fangs are out, again, betraying his lack of control. Sykkuno is staring at them, lips parted, and Corpse’s upper lip twitches, aching to expose them further. _Impress him._

But Corpse feels the twitching of his cock through his jeans, and decides it’s best they go to bed before he does anything he can’t take back, under the stark light of day.

He leaves the dishes in the bathroom as he helps Sykkuno out of the tub, wrapping him in one of the robes hanging from the back of the door. Now he’s out of the water, Sykkuno’s body sways with sleep. He bumps into Corpse’s chest and never really leaves its warmth (actually warm, now, with the fresh thrum of blood).

“Carry me.” He’s half-heartedly trying to compel Corpse, and Corpse laughs at the slur of his words.

Corpse isn’t even sure that Sykkuno will remember this in the morning, so he doesn’t answer. Just circles a hand around Sykkuno’s back, the other under his thighs. Sykkuno’s ankles hook themselves around Corpse’s back, almost like they’re hugging.

Corpse hasn’t hugged anyone, felt such a simple touch, in longer than he’d care to admit to.

It feels like a long walk to Sykkuno’s room, every step dragging with Corpse’s reluctance to let this end.

Sykkuno seems to share the same thought, because when Corpse lowers him to the bed (comforter still warm from the dryer) Sykkuno doesn’t let go. Corpse chuckles into the top of his head, the puff of air ruffling his rapidly-drying hair.

“Let go, Sykkuno. We’re here.”

But those legs stay where they are, and the robe slips dangerously high on one of Sykkuno’s thighs.

“Mm. Stay.”

Corpse almost considers it, but he knows the idea isn’t the best. Instead, he pries Sykkuno’s legs from him with a gentle force, ignores his groan of protest, and re-covers him with the duvet.

“Goodnight, Sykkuno.”

But he can’t resist pressing a kiss to Sykkuno’s temple, still exposed with the way his hair is mussed. And he warms with the knowledge that Sykkuno pushes into it, sighs prettily when Corpse leaves him.

//

Sykkuno is up before him, the next morning. The bustle of his movements from the kitchen wake Corpse with a jolt, but he soon relaxes back into the mattress when he remembers that this is _his and Sykkuno’s apartment_.

Corpse lays in his bed for longer than he normally would, soaking up the stretch of sun that warms his calf delightfully. He lets a hand trail to the exposed skin of his stomach, where his shirt has ridden up in sleep, and then lets it flutter down, further to the waistband of his boxers.

The initial wrap of his hand around the base of his cock has Corpse hissing, grinding into the circle of his own fist with no pretence of lasting long. Flitting a thumb over the tip draws a gasp out of him, surprised at how responsive he is after so long without touches like these.

He tries not to think about Sykkuno, veins open and willing, or wet with the water from the tub, or desperate for his touch, clinging on with a strength that’ll probably always take Corpse’s breath away. But it’s these thoughts that pull him forcefully over that edge, muscles winding impossibly tight before the orgasm shudders through him, gives a flood of relief to his whole body.

He’s aware, on some level, of the little noises that he’s making, but he’s too blissed out to really care. Although he’s still not entirely sure of the reach that Sykkuno’s powers have, so he’s got the sense to look a little sheepish when he emerges from his den into the kitchen.

“Morning.” Corpse likes the way Sykkuno’s heart always jumps when he’s aware of his presence. It satisfies a primal part of him, makes a grumble form in the base of his throat.

“Oh, uh, h-hey, Corpse.” Sykkuno’s tense when he turns back around, unsure of himself in Corpse’s space when he pokes hesitantly at the eggs he’s frying. And then he squares his shoulders back, faces Corpse again. “Hey, uh, I’m—” _Jesus, this is so embarrassing_ , muttered under Sykkuno’s breath, even though Corpse can hear it clear as day, “I’m so sorry about last night. I-I get super clingy when I’m tired, I shouldn’t have—”

“Sykkuno, it’s okay.” Was that all it had been? _Tired?_ The flush of Sykkuno’s cheeks tell him otherwise, but Corpse lets it go. “Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I don’t mind.”

At that, Sykkuno meets his eyes again. “You don’t?”

Corpse just shakes his head, squeezes Sykkuno’s shoulder as he passes him to the coffee machine. “Have you got work today?” Corpse knows that he does, in fact, have work, and that Sykkuno is about to be late.

“Don’t remind me.” He sighs, smile playing at the edge of his lips.

Sykkuno hurries to compile his egg-cheese-ketchup sandwich, and then he’s pulling on his shoes and backpack. Half the sandwich still hanging out his mouth. He’s opening the door, struggling with his arms full, when Corpse rushes over.

“Wait.” He hands out a thermos full of coffee, and blushes when Sykkuno smiles, finishing the bite of his sandwich to thank him.

And then there’s the warm press of lips on Corpse’s cheek, the promise that Sykkuno will _see him later_.

Corpse stands there for too long to be acceptable, really, but the smile on his face stays strong long after Sykkuno leaves him in their empty home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! lemme know your thoughts?


	6. Domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy, sorry for the wait for this chapter, I haven't been writing much this week :/ but my assignments got moved to next week so I might start picking up the pace again
> 
> as always, this is not a real relationship <3
> 
> enjoy

The drag of the hours without Sykkuno’s presence has Corpse wondering what he used to do with all this free time. He cleans the kitchen, then the bathroom (the ache that he feels, looking at Sykkuno’s plate and his mug, shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does) and tries, unsuccessfully, to immerse himself in a book. _Dracula_ , of all things.

He even makes a trip to store the stuff that’s piled in the living room, rifles through some of the unit to see if he can take anything back with him.

A box of his old roommate’s kitchen supplies catches his eye. He doesn’t let himself linger on the thought of her (like a mother to him, even in her younger years) but he’s glad to have something of hers that he can _use._ Like a recipe book.

Maybe Corpse should try cooking, for once. _She_ had always badgered him about it, blaming her arthritis on the way he refused to help her out in the kitchen. But, now, the thought of cooking for someone — for Sykkuno — raises the hairs on his arms. A way of saying thank you for all that Sykkuno is giving him, allowing him to take.

So he puts in on the passenger’s seat of his car, and tries not to think about the _real_ reason that he wants to start making food for Sykkuno (he’s never even entertained the idea of learning to cook, let alone for someone he’s only just met).

He gets a text, a short while later, when he’s sat on the couch, flipping through the worn pages of the recipe book.

_Are you coming by the shop today?_

Corpse grins into the cup of coffee he’s just made, and then tips it down the sink before pulling on a coat.

The stretch of his legs feels good, as he makes his way to _Wide Awake_. He doesn’t even mind how the wind messes up his hair. He _especially_ doesn’t mind when Sykkuno sees the bird’s nest of his curls and snorts out a laugh from behind the counter.

“Corpse! I love the new look.”

Corpse rolls his eyes and leans his forearms on the counter, matches the way Sykkuno’s standing opposite him. He pretends that his hands aren’t twitching, wanting to smooth his hair down into something less wild.

“Sykkuno, is there enough room for—“

Toast’s coming from the back room with a plate of pastries, smile on his face when he spots them both.

“Hey, Corpse. How’s living with Sykkuno?” Toast nudges Sykkuno out of the way of the display case. “Cause _Sykkuno_ hasn’t stopped talking about y—”

Sykkuno kicks Toast in the shin (hard) and Toast laughs when the blush rises to Sykkuno’s cheeks.

“Yeah, uh, yeah. It’s been good. I like it.” Corpse tries not to let his smile stretch too wide, but it’s more effort than he’d thought.

Toast rolls his eyes at them both and makes his way back to the kitchen. “Just put me on the invitation list for the housewarming party, alright? I wanna check out your place.”

Corpse hadn’t even thought about a party. Do people have parties? _Yes._ Of course they do. But- who else would they invite?

“S-sorry about him, he’s just jealous he doesn’t have anyone to live with other than Lud.”

Ludwig’s the baker, always making new and, uh, interesting concoctions. If Sykkuno’s reactions to his pastries were any indication.

“He’s right, though. We- we could have a, uh, party. Or something.” Corpse scratches the back of his neck.

Sykkuno looks up at him from where he’s steaming the coffee, smile forming until he forgets what he’s doing and hisses with a burn on his finger.

Corpse hears the almost-growl come out of his mouth, beckon Sykkuno closer to him. Sykkuno winces when Corpse cups his hands around the wound, but it’s soon replaced with the flood of relief from the throbbing pain.

Sykkuno smiles gratefully up at him. Hands him the cup of coffee (extra vanilla).

“Be more careful.” It’s not quite compulsion, but Sykkuno chuckles all the same.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you at home.”

_Home._

Corpse lets go of Sykkuno’s hand — lets it fall back to the cool counter.

“See you later, Sy.” Corpse hopes he isn’t imagining the skip of Sykkuno’s heartbeat as he lets the cafe door close.

Back at _home_ — their home — Corpse tries to choose something to make that Sykkuno will _like._ Not just tolerate, but actually enjoy. Luckily, there’s little notes scattered about the pages (how difficult a recipe is, how long it’ll take, whether there’s any way of making substitutions) so Corpse can figure out the best place to start.

Lasagna looks a little too tricky, and there probably wouldn’t be enough time for Corpse to chop all the vegetables, assemble it, fuck it up somehow, and start the whole process all over again before Sykkuno came through the door. Pasta might still be the way to go, though — he’d picked some up yesterday, and, according to the book, it’s good for boosting energy.

There’s a recipe in there for _quick and easy bacon pasta_ which doesn’t seem too far out of Corpse’s league. He reads it a couple times through (ingredients: bacon, pasta, garlic, pre-bought sauce, method: boil pasta 10-12 mins, fry bacon with garlic 2 mins each side, add sauce to bacon until hot, drain pasta, mix together) and decides to give it a test run.

The first try, he burns the bacon because he’s obsessing about trying to stop the pasta sticking to the bottom of the saucepan. And it’s really a wonder that he can never catch the burning in time, even without Sykkuno there to distract him. The one (and only) think he seems to be good at is the prep. Specifically, the chopping.

The second time around, he gets so absorbed in the dicing of the bacon that he decides to add a few more vegetables, too. A courgette? Why not. Onion? Of course. And then there’s a large pile of vegetables on the counter — a little too much for one serving of pasta, probably. But he rolls with it, until the pan is so full that there’s no room for the sauce. Or the bacon. And the distraction of it all means the pasta water boils over, too.

Third time’s a charm, though, and just as the timer goes off for the pasta, the sauce is hot and there’s even some vegetables in it. Corpse is thinking that there might even be enough for leftovers, if he can figure out what microwave settings to use, when he hears Sykkuno leaping up the stairs.

Corpse turns with a grin when the door flies open, Sykkuno a welcome sight with his wind-chapped skin and wide smile.

“Hey,” Sykkuno dumps his stuff down on the couch and then flops down onto the cushions, too, before another smile opens up his face, “are you cooking?”

Corpse hums, lets their eyes meet before turning back to the pans so he can feed Sykkuno. And when Sykkuno takes the bowl from him, breathing in the steam, his fingers linger over Corpse’s skin. They leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Thank you.”

He puts on an Attack on Titan re-run to try and distract himself from the way Sykkuno’s eating his food. _His._ The food that Corpse has made for him. But he can’t quite seem to tear his eyes away, stealing furtive glances every time Sykkuno laughs at whatever’s happening on-screen, or when he’s licking the fork clean of sauce.

Corpse traces the line of Sykkuno’s throat with his eyes, across the steady beat of his pulse, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. When Sykkuno catches him, he smirks. As if he’s known the whole time.

He puts his empty bowl down on the coffee table and slides closer to Corpse. “The offer still stands,” _don’t say it, don’t say it, dontsayit—_ “if you want to drink my blood straight from—”

Corpse growls out a firm _no._ But his pupils are blown, the veins under his eyes darkening.

“Corpse. You won’t hurt me.” Sykkuno’s getting even closer, now, and Corpse can feel the thrum of blood under his skin.

“ _Enough._ ” Corpse shoots up, tackles Sykkuno onto his back on the couch. “I’ll kill you. And I won’t even realise until it’s too late.” He’s hanging heavy over Sykkuno’s body, a strong hand on his hip that digs into flesh, just to prove his point.

Sykkuno just arches into it, strong lines of his face telling Corpse that he still doesn’t believe him.

And then Sykkuno’s on top of him, somehow, and Corpse feels nails digging into the muscle of his arms, beading blood even through burn of his rapid healing. Another low rumble and he’s pushing Sykkuno into the exposed brick of the far wall, but with a hand behind him to keep him from feeling the roughness of it.

Sykkuno just looks at him with that _smile_ , and suddenly Corpse can’t really move at all. Like the signals from his brain aren’t making their way to his body. “The thing about sirens, Corpse, is that they control water,” He puts a gentle hand on Corpse’s cheek to keep him calm, reassure him, “and with my blood in you right now, your body has a large water content.”

Sykkuno blinks his eyes, and then Corpse is unfrozen, sagging into where Sykkuno now holds him.

“Holy shit.” Corpse grips tighter into the muscle of Sykkuno’s waist. Lets his nose bury itself in thecrook of his neck.

Sykkuno breathes shakily above him, and Corpse’s fangs extend enough so that they’re grazing over tender skin, the cool of his teeth sending a stutter to Sykkuno’s heart.

“Pl-please.”

Corpse forces himself to keep a grip on the _human_ part of himself — what little there is left in this moment — for long enough to wind Sykkuno’s legs around him and run him a bath, ready for the aftermath of his feed.

He sets Sykkuno on the rim of the bath and tries to focus his mind, breathes evenly even with the way Sykkuno is taking off his clothes, fingers shaking with the thrum of _want_ running through him.

Corpse takes pity on him and helps with the pull of clothes, removing his shirt until they’re standing in the bathroom, shirtless. And Sykkuno’s lips are parted, eyes looking up at him with question. Until there’s the firm press of those lips against his own, a tongue skirting dangerously along the razor-edge of his incisors.

He thinks he’ll drown in the warmth of Sykkuno’s hands across his skin — and he would, happily, if given the chance. But, for now, all that’s on his mind is the pulsing of Sykkuno’s heart. The racing of his heartbeat. The whine drawn from his lips when Corpse runs a gentle tongue up the skin of his neck.

And the final, trusting, frantic, nod that Sykkuno gives him before Corpse descends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, let me know what you think :))


	7. Closer Isn't Close Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally!!! sorry to leave you all on such a cliff-hanger, but writing has been pretty difficult for me lately (hence why I'm no longer promising any future chapters, although I may add a couple of prologues in the future)
> 
> again, thank you so much for reading and kudos-ing and commenting, it means so much to me!!
> 
> enjoy :)

That first break of Sykkuno’s skin sends a rush of blood to Corpse’s tongue. _Hot. Healing._ And Sykkuno is bringing in his head closer to the wound, panting into Corpse’s ear. Warm breath letting Corpse know that he’s not drunk his fill, yet. It starts slow, like kissing without a goal in sight, but soon Corpse is moaning desperately into Sykkuno, aching for _more._

And the feral part of his brain never wants to let go, to relinquish the way Sykkuno tastes. The flood of power, of ecstasy, is all too much and, yet, not enough to satisfy him. He bites down further, feels the slowing pulse of Sykkuno’s flesh around him, and he knows (deep down, buried under the clawing _desire_ ) that he should stop, but his teeth are a vice on Sykkuno’s neck, still.

Sykkuno’s grip on the back of his hair is loosening, ever so slightly, but Corpse still stays drinking in his energy, teasing a tongue into the wound that has Sykkuno pressing even further into him. And then there’s a flash of nails digging into the side of Corpse’s neck, a warning.

Corpse is still desperate to keep going, to dig himself even further into Sykkuno’s hold. But it’s with Sykkuno’s gentle encouragements, and the sting of nails bringing him back to himself, that Corpse is able to pull back, finally. Watch as Sykkuno’s head falls back, eyes wild and throat exposed even further.

The wound at the juncture of his neck is deep, gaping, and Corpse is transfixed by the way it bleeds dark, drips slowly over his collar bone, his chest. And Sykkuno is pale, almost worryingly so, the sweat over his brow clinging salty to his skin. Corpse has never seen anything so beautiful, so captivating, than the sight of Sykkuno dazed and raw, open so prettily for Corpse. Gaze unfocused under the warm light of their bathroom.

Corpse is still lapping at the beading blood, eyelashes fluttering soft against his cheek, as he strips Sykkuno of his jeans, his underwear. Lowers him carefully into the warm tub to let him recover. He reluctantly parts from that delicious skin to let Sykkuno bathe, build up his strength again, but Sykkuno grips onto his wrist with a strength that still takes Corpse by surprise.

“Get in with me.” His eyes are closed as he lets the water heal him, ghost over his limbs. And as his blood turns the water a pale shade of pink, Corpse can’t form the words to say _I’ve never wanted anything this much_. So he just takes off the rest of his clothes, fangs peeking out under the lustful lick of Sykkuno’s lips, tongue darting out to part them, lids heavy and lips parting.

Corpse hisses with the heat of the water, revels in the stretch of Sykkuno’s grin as they sit opposite each other. But the distance between them is too much, really, after being so close. So Corpse grips Sykkuno’s thighs under the water, drags him closer, until he’s wrapped around his lap where Sykkuno sags against him, comfortable in his hold.

Even after Corpse had just been _feeding;_ even with the sharp smell of blood still pungent in the space between them.

Prickling tears form in the corner of Corpse’s eyes as he snuggles Sykkuno closer, nips _almost_ too close to his wound in a way that has Sykkuno hissing and gripping Corpse tighter. But Corpse soothes him with licks to his throat, lets the magic of his healing wash through Sykkuno until there’s no more than a stretch of puffed, pink skin.

Sykkuno shivers into him as Corpse trails his lips further up, sucks dark marks into his jugular, under his chin, back down again to his clavicle. Sykkuno’s thighs tighten around Corpse’s waist, heels digging into the dip of his back.

And what a sight it is to see those saliva-wet lips, parted in a relaxed _o_ with eyes screwed shut and chest heaving. Marks almost fading before they’ve even fully formed, with the water swirling pink around them.

Corpse reaches for the sponge on the shelf beside them, wets and wrings it in the water before pressing it to the dried blood around his neck, swiping at the skin until all traces of Corpse are gone from him. Sykkuno shivers in the wake of the water cooling on his neck, so Corpse presses open-mouthed kisses there, warms him up until Sykkuno is sweating with the heat of Corpse’s mouth — the heat of Corpse’s whole body, now flush with blood.

With the sudden roll of Sykkuno’s hips, their cocks brushing tantalisingly against each other, Corpse sounds out a shaky, “S-sy—” and Sykkuno brings Corpse’s head back up to face him before capturing his lower lip, tracing the tip of his tongue along that swollen flesh and Corpse _groans_ with it, ripples the water with the thrusting of his hips.

Sykkuno even manages to wrap a fist around them both, drawing a gasp from Corpse that opens his mouth to Sykkuno’s tongue even more. And when Sykkuno digs the flat of it into one of Corpse’s fangs, Corpse digs his nails into the swell of Sykkuno’s ass. Moves their hips in a frantic rhythm with the fresh taste of blood stirring his _need_.

He bats Sykkuno’s hand away from where it’s loosened around their cocks, and instead holds them both, tight, with quick movements and whispered words into the shell of Sykkuno’s ear that tell him to _come soon, baby— so close, a-ah, Sy, please._

And Corpse must do something _right_ with the teasing of his fingertips at Sykkuno’s hole, with his words and the brutal pace of his hand, because, suddenly, Sykkuno’s choking out the broken chords of Corpse’s name as his cock pulses hot under the water. Corpse is only just behind him, off that knife’s edge, shuddering into the heat between them until they’re both still in each other’s hold. Breathing rough.

It’s so _much_ , all at once, to have Sykkuno in his arms. To feel cherished, cared for, by such an incredible creature.

Corpse noses along the base of Sykkuno’s neck, content with the way Sykkuno lets him — wants him. But the water soon turns cold, so (even with Sykkuno’s whining protests of _just five more minutes_ ) Corpse firms the grip he has on Sykkuno’s waist and carries him out of the tub, dries them both off and takes them to his room.

He’s never taken someone into his den. Ever. But it’s without hesitation that he lays Sykkuno down under the covers, follows Sykkuno’s grip on his waist with the rest of his body, until he’s caged around him.

Sykkuno’s foot trails hot up and down Corpse’s calf, so rhythmic it’s soothing. In time with the twisting of Sykkuno’s fingers around a strand of Corpse’s hair. Corpse lets his head hang heavy, foreheads brushing, until he’s almost certain he’ll collapse on Sykkuno if he doesn’t change their positions.

With a few final, longing, kisses up and down the curve of Sykkuno’s neck, Corpse relents and drags Sykkuno over him. Lying under the press of Sykkuno’s chest, Corpse lets his fingertips trace up the backs of Sykkuno’s thighs. Little twists and turns forming patterns on his skin.

“Mm. Feels nice.” Sykkuno whispers into the damp of Corpse’s neck, arches into the pads of his fingers.

Corpse smirks into Sykkuno’s hair, and continues his motions until he feels Sykkuno’s full weight press into him, breath evening out with a lax mouth.

It’s not long before their chests rise and fall in tandem, Corpse’s bed a raft for their drifting dreams.

//

Corpse wakes to the smell of burning toast. The cool sheets tell him he’s alone in the bed (his bed, still. For now) and his heart picks up its pace.

He’s out of bed before he can even really register the movements, moving through the house with the speed he’d only remembered in dreams, until he’d met Sykkuno. And then he’s laughing at the way Sykkuno’s stood on one of their chairs, waving a cloth at the smoke alarm in a panic.

He startles when he feels the air ripple with Corpse’s movements. “S-sorry Corpse, I, uh, didn’t mean to wake you.”

But then he must realise that the smile on Corpse’s face is genuine, loving, because he joins in the laughter.

“You burnt _toast_?” The smoke’s pretty much cleared from the kitchen, so Corpse helps Sykkuno down off the chair. “Even I haven’t burnt toast.”

Sykkuno rolls his eyes, but lets Corpse’s arm linger around his waist. “Yet.”

Corpse snorts out another laugh and brings Sykkuno closer. “Are you doubting my cooking skills, Sykkuno?” A teasing hand ghosts along the curve of Sykkuno’s spine, stops just before the swell of his ass.

Sykkuno leans into the touch, fists a hand in Corpse’s shirt so that he can bare his neck. The _scent_ of that blood pulsing just below the surface is tantalising, mouth-watering. “Why don’t you make me breakfast, then? And we’ll put those cooking skills to the test.”

Sykkuno lets him inhale at the crook of his neck, and then he perches himself at the breakfast bar to watch Corpse get to work. With a flick of his fingers, Corpse brings a knife to his palm (from Sykkuno’s room, where his daggers hang in a ring above the headboard) and revels in the way Sykkuno inhales sharply, watches as Corpse slices bacon and mushrooms and tomatoes.

It’s almost as thrilling as the way they all sizzle together in the pan, the smell of breakfast flooding the kitchen. When Corpse glances back from the pan, Sykkuno’s gaze quickly moves up to meet his eyes. He even has the decency to blush, but Corpse can feel his eyes return to the tight fit of his jeans when he turns around.

He turns the heat down low and prods at the eggs for a little while longer.

But, soon enough, breakfast is ready, and Corpse is filled with apprehension as Sykkuno takes his first bite.

It’s the garbled, “Fuck, this is so good,” that has Corpse breaking out into another smile, watching with rapture as Sykkuno finishes his whole plate.

There’s a dribble of egg beading at the corner of Sykkuno’s lip, but before Sykkuno can swipe it away, Corpse is there with his thumb. Brushing it off with another wicked smile that has Sykkuno blushing. And the press of his thumb between Sykkuno’s lips, his tongue darting out to lick it clean, has Corpse mesmerised.

Enchanted with a look from under Sykkuno’s lashes.

But Sykkuno glances at the clock and then he’s a flurry of movement, whisking himself away with the realisation that he’s going to be late _again._ Corpse follows him to the door, small smile playing at his lips all the while.

Sykkuno rushes out a goodbye in between the kisses, is pulling away even with Corpse’s hand on his ass. But his laughter echoes through the hall, even when Corpse shuts the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank youuuuuu


End file.
